The Fall of America: Winter Ops (3 page)

The jet did not line up for an attack, but flew down low, less than 300 feet, straight and level.  When near us, he banked slightly to view us and then pulled his nose up and began a step climb into the dark clouds.  In a matter of minutes he was out of sight and no doubt would call his home base and give some exaggerated number of partisans killed.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked as I stood and knocked the sleet from my pants.

“Walsh took a glancing blow from a rock and is bleeding, but he's okay. I'll bandage him up and he'll be good to go in a couple of minutes.”  Sandra replied.

At that point, Kerr returned at a run and said, “Russians coming in, they're hot on my ass.  Y'all move back to the trees and I'll place a mine.  Move, I mean they're
really
close to me.”

“Everyone to the trees and
now
!”  I said and took off at a hard run.

A couple of minutes later, as we entered the trees, I said, “Spread out and watch Kerr.  Cover his ass in the event the Russians see him.”

I watched the far treeline for the enemy, but saw nothing.  Then I saw Kerr stand in the tall grasses and run hard for our trees.  It was then I spotted the first Russian step from the woods.  The aircraft that attacked us must have radioed a squad on the ground to check our area out and get a good body count, because that's what I would have done.  

Kerr entered the trees without a shot from the other side and I suspect they didn't see him.  Our man was almost to the trees before the first Russian was seen, their point man.  A few minutes later, a larger group of Russians walked from the woods, following.  I quickly estimated their size at a squad, almost the same as my force.  

They were good, I noticed, as they spread out wide to cross the field.

“Hold your fire,” I whispered and heard my order passes around to the others.

The main group continued on Kerr's tracks and at a little less than the half way point, there came a loud explosion, screams, and then yelling in Russian. I saw where there were five men earlier, smoke and bodies littered the ground. One man, I suspected he was the medic, ran for the downed men and when he neared, I heard a toe-popper go off and watched as he fell screaming.  No one else moved.  I pulled my Russian binoculars from my case and brought them to my eyes.

The medic looked like he'd taken most of the shotgun shell blast in his thigh and he was bleeding heavily.  I watched as he pulled his kit near and began to work on his injury.  Of the other five that were down, only one was still moving and he was screaming almost nonstop.  Adjusting the focus on my glasses, I saw long strands of gray purple intestines clutched tightly in his hands.  He was dead, only he didn't realize it yet, and was moving on adrenaline.  I expected him to go into shock shortly and then death.  One man had his head completely missing, and of the other three, they all looked dead, but that meant little to me.

I pulled Joyce, my sniper, in close and whispered, “Take out the furthest man first, and when you fire, so will we.”  I looked around and everyone nodded.

Joyce was a short woman with blond hair and blue eyes and about five feet and five inches tall.  She loved to joke, until she picked up her sniper rifle; then she turned deadly serious. I watched her Russian sniper rifle come up and she began sighting in on her first target. She made some minor adjustments to her scope and took a deep breath.  As she slowly exhaled the air trapped in her lungs, I saw her finger slowly tighten on the trigger.

Her shot was more of a muffled pop than the blast of a high powered rifle, and I saw the man at the rear collapse into a heap. Other weapons opened fire and one by one the Russians began to fall.  Seeing all the enemy were either dead or gone to ground, I called out, “Cease fire, cease fire, and now we wait.  Keep your eyes open in case one makes a move. Joyce, put a killing round into each body you can see.”

Her shots began to ring out.  

Finally, a man on the right screamed something, stood and began running back toward the trees.  Joyce fired once and the man's head exploded sending blood and gore high into the air.  He collapsed as if he'd hit a brick wall.

We continued to wait.

Finally, an hour after her last shot and ending of all cries and moans, I said, “Okay, I want most of you to remain here as Scott and I check them out.”

I heard the twenty year old gulp and then he stood as I did.  Scott was one of the few in the field that spoke fluent Russian.  At a young age he'd been adopted by a Russian couple and raised as their own son.  To avoid suspicion and problems, he'd not used his Russian name when he joined us and so far he was proving to be a loyal American.  I liked the lad, as did Sandra, but some distrusted him because he spoke the language of our enemies.  Both of his Russian parents were killed when they were hanged in retaliation of our attack on the air base at Edwards earlier this year and I feared the man was on a vengeance trail, because he was hard on any Russian taken alive. While only twenty, he had the eyes of a sixty year old man and by that I mean sad eyes, very sad.

“If one moves,” I said as we moved forward, “put a bullet in him.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.”

In the main group by the exploded mine, the five were dead and the medic was fatally injured.  Joyce had put a bullet in his head, a large chunk of skull was missing, and his breathing was jagged and uneven.  Scott leaned over, pulled his skinning knife and cut the man's throat. We moved on.

Of the others, all were dead, and the one who'd ran for the trees had most of his head missing from the killing shot fired by my sniper.

“Gather up anything we can use, as I pull all the papers and maps from these men.  Hurry now, because I want to be gone as soon as we can.  Sooner or later the base these men came from will try to contact them by radio.”

Twenty minutes later we were moving north and it was still sleeting with a mixture of ice, but I suspected by morning we'd be facing an ice storm.  I stopped by the trail and watched my men and women walk by. They looked good, but tired, and it was then I spotted Scott.  He was packing the radio from the group we'd killed in the field.

Dropping back, I asked, “What's the idea of packing the extra weight?”

“Colonel, I think I can speak to them enough to mess them up.”

“What about your accent?”  I asked.

“I was told I don't have one. That was what I was told in college, where I further studied the language, according to the Russian language professor anyways.  I'd hoped to get a Masters degree and become a diplomat, but we all know how that turned out, huh?”

“I have a stack of papers in my pack.  Do you read the language as well?”

“Oh, yeah, my momma taught me to read with a Russian Bible.”

“Good; now let's stop talking and keep moving.  We'll be at the safe house by dawn.”

Just as it grew dusk, Silverwolf appeared and said, “The woods are crawling with patrols out looking for something, but I don't think it's us.  Most were moving at a fast clip east and so were most of the aircraft, but I only saw two birds.”

“East? That would be toward Jackson, unless they have some partisans surrounded, or are planning to hit one of our groups hard.  How many men total do you think you saw?”

“A thousand, maybe a few more or less.  Most all were in company sizes.”

I knew of none of our people out that way, but often I wasn't told things. Our security was designed so that you couldn't tell the Russians what you didn't know if taken prisoner. This meant we needed to move quickly to the safe house and pass the word on of what Silverwolf had found.

“Okay folks, listen up.  From the information Silverwolf brought us, we need to get to the safe house as soon as we can.  This means we'll not stop until we get there.  The Russians are moving a lot of men to the east and it must be for a reason.  Maybe, just maybe, the maps and other papers taken from our last ambush site will provide some information.  If you have to pee, do it now, or take your chances later as you walk.  I'll stop for a few minutes every hour, but get ready for a long night.”

L
ieutenant Sasha Smirnov walked around the blood-stained killing grounds of the open field and grew angry at the slaughter of his fellow soldiers. About half had been shot in the head with a high caliber rifle, from a far distance he suspected, because there were no powder burns to any of the heads. Others had been killed by a mine and one had his throat cut. The long distance shots, likely from the distant treeline, would have been made by a well qualified sniper.

“Lieutenant!”  Senior Sergeant Morozov called out, “Our partisans were in the tree line and I've found the empty brass from their weapons. It looks as if the mine was a pressure detonating one with some shotgun shells resting on nails scattered around to confuse, injure or kill any survivors.”

“How can a shotgun shell rest on a nail?”

“It's easy, sir. Take a block of wood, drill a hole the diameter of the shell, then drive a nail up into the hole from the bottom.  To use, you bury the block and place a shell in the hole.  When a man steps on the block the shell is pushed down, the primer resting on the nail goes off and the shell explodes. It almost always causes a serious injury to the thighs or lower stomach. The shot can also take a man's pecker and balls off, too—and I mean in a second.”

Smirnov waved him away and ended the conversation. The Lieutenant had been told in Moscow the resistance was a bunch of unorganized farmers and prior military. What he saw here was a well executed ambush and it worried him. He realized he was not facing a ragtag group of peasants, but men who knew well how to kill, and that worried him.  His Senior Sergeant had told him the Russian patrol had chased the Americans into the trees, started crossing the field, and then the ambush had been sprung.  The enemy hadn't panicked and even had the presence of mind to plant a mine and some shotgun shells before moving to the shelter offered by the trees.  That told him this group of resistance fighters worked well under pressure and that meant experience.

“Egorov!” the Lieutenant yelled, “Contact base and let them know we have ten killed and no American bodies found.  Also, inform them the Americans have moved away from our direction of travel, moving north, and then ask if we are to pursue them or continue East.”

“Yes sir.”  Junior Sergeant Abram Egorov replied, and then picked up the headset and began talking.  Egorov wasn't sure what to think of the Lieutenant, the army, or America.  He knew he didn't like America or the Army, because both tried to kill him, and the Lieutenant hadn't been with the unit but a couple of days, so he was unsure of him.  Egorov had been in the field for a little over six months and during that time he'd seen Lieutenants come and go, most killed, some wounded, and only one promoted up and out of the field.

“Senior Sergeant!  Get these bodies ready to be picked up by helicopter. I am sure headquarters will want them removed.”  Lieutenant Smirnov said as he walked toward the trees inattentively.  The Lieutenant had taken about a dozen steps when he heard someone yell, “Grenade!” Before Smirnov could turn there was an explosion, followed by shrieks of pain and loud cursing.

“Medic!” someone yelled.

Completing his turn, the young officer saw five men down and knew by looking three would never get up again. One was almost blown in half, one had half his face missing, and the last was attempting to hold his intestines in place. It was the man with the stomach wound that was screaming.

The medic, Sergeant Borya Volkov,  moved quickly to the injured man's side and started working.  He had one of the Privates hold a plasma bag up as he found a vein in the man's arm.  After about five minutes, he yelled, “Sir, I need a helicopter for this man or he will die. I have got his bleeding almost under control, but he is torn up inside.”

“Egorov, what did base say about us? And get me an evacuation helicopter now!”

“Wait, base.”  Egorov said and then turning to the Lieutenant, he said, “Sir, they are discussing our moving now and I have requested an evacuation.”

“Good, but stress if the man is not evacuated, the medic says he will die.”

Now talking on the radio, Egorov waved in understanding and kept speaking.  Finally, he placed the headset away and said, “We are to remain here until the bodies and our injured man are picked up.  Once they are gone, we are to continue our original mission. Uh, Major Sokolov reminded me, sir, that the terrorists often booby-trap the dead, both ours and theirs.  The estimated time of arrival for the helicopter is in fifteen minutes.”

“I am aware of booby-traps, Sergeant.”  Smirnov said in anger.
I should have thought of the booby-traps right off, but I didn't.  I need to start thinking clearly, if I want to make Captain and more importantly, survive my tour here
, he thought.

“Damn sleet is hard on my eyes.”  Private Mikhailov said as he pulled his forage cap down so the bill better protected his eyes.  

Senior Sergeant Morozov said, “If the sleet hurts the Private's eyes, wear your goggles.  Why do you think they were issued to you?  Where in the hell does Moscow find you fools they send me to use as soldiers?”

Egorov said, “I have the helicopter on the radio and he is asking for us to give him smoke when he nears, so he can see the wind direction.”

“He will have it as he nears our location.” the Senior Sergeant said and then added, “Private Pavlorov, have a smoke grenade ready and pop it when I give the word. The rest of you clowns, circle us and at least look like you are in the Russian army.  Fools, I am surrounded by damned fools. Move, now!”

Men scurried in all directions and a crude circle was formed just seconds before Egorov said, “I see you and guess your distances at less than three kilometers.  Continue on present course. It is hard to see you in this sleet.  Pop the smoke now, Pavlorov!”

The private pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and dropped it by his foot. The winds quickly blew the smoke to the East.

Once the aircraft was on the ground, a crewman ran to the group and explained that all movement toward the helicopter was to be made from the very front, so the pilot could see them at all times.  He then had the dead loaded on the floor of the aircraft and the injured man was placed on a stretcher that strapped to the wall. In a matter of a few short minutes, the helicopter was gone.